Chapter Six: Quiet
I popped a little painkiller into my system as I swallowed seven pills with various vitamins and steroids. My lower arm's recent stitching job became another tally on my list of growing bodily injuries. With so many scars and stitches, I might have been one of Deyana's experiments. I grimaced because I just might be. She took no shame in bottling up parts from former team members.
Well, there wasn't much of a team to begin with, and I let these thoughts go with a sigh. If I wound up in jars, so be it. I ran out of reasons to live long ago when there was no more school, family, or calm future with the prospect of marriage and a family of my own. Now, I just lived to live.
I smirked at my strangely, unkempt hair that hung in dark clumps to my shoulders. No, I wasn't handsome. Might I have been? My large arms and steroid enhanced body left some stretch marks, adding towards the battle scars that covered my body. Deyana stitched me up after I took Dan's brunt at every mission.
I stared at the ceiling, which I painted myself in an everlasting garden, the type that I'd never see again. My parents owned a garden, but this one came from my imagination, flowing from artistic places hidden deep under my survival mode. Late at night, and when Deyana calmed down enough to spend a while in the lab, which wasn't often, I painted another part of my garden. It was flowing onto the walls, and I picked up my brush, beginning to work on a small grapevine around the door.
The little round purple grapes would taste good, and I longed for grapes and cherries, my favorite fruits. The therapy soothed my brain, causing the violent thoughts to end for an hour or so.
Deyana might like to see my garden, but no, she'd never have time. She ran the show, and her pride and joy lay in the lab and in storage room down the hall in the form of a winger. That was Deyana's therapy. Saving mind's made her happy, making her whole.
Dan didn't strike me as loving plants. He would be reading, probably, or working out, which he didn't need to do, but liked to anyway. Most liking, he'd be playing one of his old, silly video games, which he loved because he lost himself in the animated action. It offered him escape, which he wanted. He wanted his old life back, and enjoyed his favorite form of entertainment from then.
What did I want? Did I want my old life? Did I want a grand, bold future?
No, I wanted neither. I wanted my peace, a small piece of something to just call my own. A place where I could stay, enjoying life and without having to fix my body every week with stitches, blood transfusions, and steroids.
This room was mine. I owned this painting, if it were the only thing I'd ever own again, it would be mine. Maybe this is why I didn't want to show it off. We never let each other into each other's rooms, but I had been in Dan's and Deyana's a couple times. They never came in here.
It wasn't just Deyana, Dan, and me, though. Deyana inserted a new addition to our group. Did I like the winger?
Another unanswered question because I had never spoken to her, although I would be able to now. Deyana's idea struck all sorts of interesting possibilities. Could I get over the idea of talking to a winger like a human? I wasn't sure, but I might try when time permitted. Deyana might push it on me, though, because of Dan's unwillingness.
"The human mind," I sighed, beginning to paint a little leaf. Humanity, the backbone of this world, even since the overlords took over. They needed our minds. I frowned, refilling my paints.
Would they get my mind? Deyana's? Dan's? They got everyone else's. I frowned deeper, putting my paints away. Once again, peace had left.
I usually don't ask this, but reviews, please. I'd like to know if there's anything you'd want to see in this story, anything I'm doing wrong, and some things you like or want to see stay the same. Thanks, MorganRay.
I popped a little painkiller into my system as I swallowed seven pills with various vitamins and steroids. My lower arm's recent stitching job became another tally on my list of growing bodily injuries. With so many scars and stitches, I might have been one of Deyana's experiments. I grimaced because I just might be. She took no shame in bottling up parts from former team members.
Well, there wasn't much of a team to begin with, and I let these thoughts go with a sigh. If I wound up in jars, so be it. I ran out of reasons to live long ago when there was no more school, family, or calm future with the prospect of marriage and a family of my own. Now, I just lived to live.
I smirked at my strangely, unkempt hair that hung in dark clumps to my shoulders. No, I wasn't handsome. Might I have been? My large arms and steroid enhanced body left some stretch marks, adding towards the battle scars that covered my body. Deyana stitched me up after I took Dan's brunt at every mission.
I stared at the ceiling, which I painted myself in an everlasting garden, the type that I'd never see again. My parents owned a garden, but this one came from my imagination, flowing from artistic places hidden deep under my survival mode. Late at night, and when Deyana calmed down enough to spend a while in the lab, which wasn't often, I painted another part of my garden. It was flowing onto the walls, and I picked up my brush, beginning to work on a small grapevine around the door.
The little round purple grapes would taste good, and I longed for grapes and cherries, my favorite fruits. The therapy soothed my brain, causing the violent thoughts to end for an hour or so.
Deyana might like to see my garden, but no, she'd never have time. She ran the show, and her pride and joy lay in the lab and in storage room down the hall in the form of a winger. That was Deyana's therapy. Saving mind's made her happy, making her whole.
Dan didn't strike me as loving plants. He would be reading, probably, or working out, which he didn't need to do, but liked to anyway. Most liking, he'd be playing one of his old, silly video games, which he loved because he lost himself in the animated action. It offered him escape, which he wanted. He wanted his old life back, and enjoyed his favorite form of entertainment from then.
What did I want? Did I want my old life? Did I want a grand, bold future?
No, I wanted neither. I wanted my peace, a small piece of something to just call my own. A place where I could stay, enjoying life and without having to fix my body every week with stitches, blood transfusions, and steroids.
This room was mine. I owned this painting, if it were the only thing I'd ever own again, it would be mine. Maybe this is why I didn't want to show it off. We never let each other into each other's rooms, but I had been in Dan's and Deyana's a couple times. They never came in here.
It wasn't just Deyana, Dan, and me, though. Deyana inserted a new addition to our group. Did I like the winger?
Another unanswered question because I had never spoken to her, although I would be able to now. Deyana's idea struck all sorts of interesting possibilities. Could I get over the idea of talking to a winger like a human? I wasn't sure, but I might try when time permitted. Deyana might push it on me, though, because of Dan's unwillingness.
"The human mind," I sighed, beginning to paint a little leaf. Humanity, the backbone of this world, even since the overlords took over. They needed our minds. I frowned, refilling my paints.
Would they get my mind? Deyana's? Dan's? They got everyone else's. I frowned deeper, putting my paints away. Once again, peace had left.
I usually don't ask this, but reviews, please. I'd like to know if there's anything you'd want to see in this story, anything I'm doing wrong, and some things you like or want to see stay the same. Thanks, MorganRay.